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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488523">Don't Take the Money</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey'>Bouncey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gifts and Prompts [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Angst, Geralt is an Idiot and a Fool, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Mess, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Prompt Fic, Very Brief Suicidal Ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:49:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-”</p><p>The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of hatred and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could understand. </p><p>or</p><p>Geralt is hired by Jaskier's family to return him home in time for his arranged marriage to another noble. Neither of them can acknowledge their feelings for each other until it's almost too late.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gifts and Prompts [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>593</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don't Take the Money</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rercho/gifts">rercho</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>rercho asked for an arranged marriage/fake dating au. I SUCK at fake dating stories so I went for an emotionally whumpy oneshot with lots of pining and Geralt being a real dingus.</p><p>Title from "Don't Take the Money" by Bleachers</p><p>See my profile for a new story poll! </p><p>(vomit tw/cw. it only happens once and it's brief but fair warning)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier had received six urgent messages in three weeks, each delivered by a different exhausted messenger in the same oddly familiar livery. They showed up outside of inns, in the corner of taverns, and one of them even had to trek through the deep woods to find their hidden campsite; Geralt <em> almost </em>felt bad for them. Almost. </p><p>After the seventh strange man appeared with a scroll for Jaskier, the bard didn’t even bother reading it. He merely tossed the rolled and sealed piece of parchment into a refuse pile on their way out of town and didn’t look back. Geralt picked it up when the bard wasn’t paying attention, letting his eyes scan the fancy, swirling script of the Viscountess Pankratz. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Julian Alfred Pankratz,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Return home immediately! Your wedding cannot be put off any longer! Lady Ainsley will not wait another month for your foolish adventures with that Witcher to come to an end. If you do not return for your wedding in three weeks time then you shall be officially disowned and your name will be stricken from the family records. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With Urgency, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Lady Pankratz </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Geralt swallowed hard. <em> Jaskier was betrothed? He was to be married in three weeks? </em> But they weren’t anywhere near Redania. Or Lettenhove. Jaskier had never mentioned anyone by the name of Lady Ainsley before, or anything about his past if he could avoid it. <em> Did that mean...? </em></p><p>“Why aren’t you going?” the Witcher asked. Jaskier whirled around, his eyebrow already raised in confusion; he went three shades paler than normal when he saw the limp paper hanging from Geralt’s fingers. “We’re not even remotely close to your hometown and we’re traveling in quite the opposite direction.”</p><p>Jaskier made a face and waved his hand dismissively. </p><p>“I know. I don’t want to marry her.”</p><p>“Why don’t you want to marry her? They’re going to <em> disown </em> you, Jaskier. Isn’t this” - he shook the letter for emphasis - “the life you’re used to living, anyway? You should go home and be with...with someone like <em> you </em>.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean, Geralt? You think I belong with someone foppish? Loud? Annoying?” The bard was spitting mad already. The Witcher had touched on a sore spot, apparently. “Should I be with someone more breakable and human and petty?”</p><p>“Don’t you want- aren’t you-”</p><p>“C’mon big boy, use that fantastic Witcher brain of yours. Figure it out.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t understand.</p><p>“Wouldn’t you be happier with her than on the Path with me?”</p><p>Jaskier looked...hurt. His expression changed from indignant to heartbroken in the measure of time that occurred between split seconds. It did something awful in the Witcher’s gut. Something unfamiliar and painful. The bard’s next words were barely above a whisper. Even with his enhanced hearing Geralt had to focus hard: “Would you prefer me to be married off and out of your way?”</p><p>“No, that’s not what I-”</p><p>“I don’t even know what we’re even getting at here, Geralt. I’m sorry. I can return home if you’d like. If I send a messenger first thing tomorrow then the family’s hired mage can portal me back in time for the wedding.”</p><p>“Jaskier,” the Witcher was pleading. He didn’t know why or for what, but the pitch of his voice left room for no other possible interpretation. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”</p><p>“Then don’t ask me to marry her, Geralt.”</p><p>The Witcher dropped the letter back onto the refuse pile and shoved it deeper with the tip of his boot. Jaskier’s bright smile returned and the soft notes of his lute filled the air once again. For some inexplicable reason Geralt felt <em> triumphant. </em>As if he’d won a battle he didn’t know he’d been fighting against an enemy he’d never met before. </p>
<hr/><p>“Are you Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” a well-dressed stranger asked, approaching the table where the Witcher was seated. It had been a week since his and Jaskier’s argument over the summons. Neither one had brought it up again and the bard had seemed almost <em> unusually </em>affectionate since. The amount of casual touching they did had significantly increased, even when the sun set and it was growing close to bedtime. Jaskier seemed to be happy touching Geralt and the Witcher had no reason to complain; he liked knowing that his best friend wasn’t scared of him. </p><p>He regarded the messenger with a suspicious gaze, “Aye. I am Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p>“I have a contract for you.” The man slid a piece of paper across the table and folded himself into the chair across from Geralt’s. The pattern stamped into the red wax seal was familiar but the Witcher couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it before. His strange visitor smiled benignly, “It doesn’t even involve killing.”</p><p>“Then why hire a Witcher? That’s kind of our schtick.”</p><p>“This agreement is of a more personal nature,” the man shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Geralt to read his missive. The Witcher took the delicate stationary in his large hands and unfolded it until he could see the printed words: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> To Sir Geralt of Rivia,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Witcher and Friend of Julian Alfred Pankratz </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We, the Pankratz Family, come to you and offer this agreement:  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Return Julian safely to our ancestral home within two weeks and you shall be paid the sum of 1500 crowns. Consider it a bodyguarding mission, if you so desire. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You are also formally invited to attend the wedding of Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove to the Countess Ainsley DeStael of Rinde, which will occur three days after your mission ends.  </em>
</p><p><em>In order to complete the job and claim your payment, however, you must leave the wedding party </em><span class="u"><em>without</em></span> <em>Julian at your side and return to your Witcher duties alone. He isn’t cut out for such a hard life on the road. He is of noble blood and has responsibilities here at home. Please return him to his kind of people and claim your coin in recompense. </em></p><p>
  <em> Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Francois Reginald Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove </em>
</p><p>
  <em> &amp; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Constantina Charlotte Pankratz, Lady de Lettenhove </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Geralt glanced up from the contract and out into the main dining room where Jaskier was currently jigging atop one of the surprisingly sturdy tables. The bard’s smile was bright, his voice was strong and clear as he sang of lovers meeting in secret, and his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He loved the attention of performing. How could Geralt take that away from him, even if he would be safer at home? Even if he would be married to another, spending his time with another, <em> caring </em>for another…</p><p>But didn’t he care about <em> Jaskier? </em>Isn’t that why he’d risked life and limb over and over to keep the bard safe? Because Geralt loved him? He pushed the thought away with haste and tried to keep his expression neutral. His amber eyes strayed to the upturned hat at Jaskier’s feet. People had been depositing coins there all night and a rather decent pile had sprung up but -</p><p><em> But he could be doing better, </em> Geralt thought. <em> He could be taking a warm bath every night and buying expensive oils from </em> real <em> apothecaries and not sketchy traveling salesmen. He could be dressing in silk every day and never complain about having to wear a woolen doublet for warmth again. He could sleep next to a fire in a real featherbed. With blankets. He could stay healthy and safe and never go near another angry monster for all his days.  </em></p><p>Something in the Witcher’s heart withered and died when he realized just how much he’d been holding Jaskier back; something important. Something the bard had helped him cultivate over six long years of traveling together. In an instant the Witcher had hidden it away in a dark corner to die. </p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Huh,” the messenger smirked. “They thought it would take more bribery to get you to agree, Witcher.”</p><p>“It’s not about the crowns,” Geralt shrugged, gaze flitting back up to Jaskier. The bard’s twinkling cornflower-blue eyes met with his and Geralt quickly glanced away, already ridden with guilt and shame over his decision. “It’s about making him happy and keeping him safe.”</p><p>“If I didn’t know any better about your kind and their lack of feelings,” the messenger snorted, “I’d say you might even love the Little Lord Pankratz.”</p><p>“If I didn’t know any better about myself,” Geralt replied, “I might agree.”</p><p>“See you in two weeks, then. Hope you can make it to Redania in time.”</p><p>“Why not just portal us there? Jaskier said his family had a hired mage.”</p><p>“Busy with wedding preparations,” the man shrugged. “Anyway, I must be going. The Viscount and her Ladyship are eager to hear your reply. See you soon, I’m sure.”</p><p>The stranger stood, bowed, and disappeared back to Lettenhove with the signed contract. Geralt swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He hated himself. He really did. <em> But this is what’s best for Jaskier. </em></p>
<hr/><p>“Who was that, earlier at the table?” the bard asked. He was lounging on the bed with a tin of lute polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Did he have a contract?”</p><p>“Yes. In Redania, actually.”</p><p>“Oh, lovely! It’s almost time for the summer festivals to begin; I can show you the <em> best </em>alehouse in all of Novigrad while we’re there.”</p><p>“My job is near Lettenhove. Do you want to go with me?”</p><p>“Sure. Might be fun to swing by my old stomping grounds. This doesn’t have anything to do with my canceled wedding, does it?” the bard shot him a pointed look. Geralt schooled his features into some sort of passivity and shook his head. </p><p>“Vampires rarely attend the weddings of minor nobility,” the Witcher lied through his teeth. </p><p>“Vampires, huh? Nifty. Haven’t had one of those to write about in awhile.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Geralt, help! Geralt, PLEASE! <em> GERALT!” </em></p><p>The Witcher tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept hearing Jaskier’s raw, heartbroken voice ringing in his ears. He could still smell the desperation and panic that clung to the bard’s soft skin as he struggled to get away from his captors. To get back to where the Witcher stood with Roach and the gatekeeper. Geralt kept imagining those eyes, those <em> fucking beautiful </em> eyes, brimming with tears of betrayal as a liveried servant handed him a velvet pouch stuffed fat with crowns. Oh gods, the way his bard had <em> looked </em> at him<em>…</em>Geralt shoved his head out the window and vomited. There was nothing but the sour sting of bile against his tongue and the back of his throat. He heaved in a breath but choked back the sob threatening to come with it.</p><p>“<em>Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-” </em></p><p>The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of <em> hatred </em> and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could <em> understand.  </em></p><p>Jaskier’s love wasn’t unrequited.</p><p>The bard stole the very breath from Geralt’s lungs every time their eyes met. Every time Jaskier crowed with pride after finishing a new song about their adventures together the Witcher felt his icy heart melt a little more. Each casual brush of their hands as they walked side-by-side sent his emotions reeling. The way his exuberant bard looked as he strolled beside Roach, the sunshine bringing out streaks of dark red in his chestnut hair and lightening the embroidery on his travel jerkin, it was <em> ethereal. </em>Magical. Overwhelming in all the best ways. </p><p>And he’d given it all away for a measly pouch of a coin and a slightly clearer conscious. Or was it? </p><p>Geralt retched again as he came to another realization.</p><p><em> He had forced Jaskier into something the bard didn’t want. </em>Geralt had always given his friend free will. The younger man came on and off the Path like a bee between flowers, visiting and traveling with the Witcher when he pleased and leaving again for odd jobs or festivals when Geralt wasn’t in the mood for company. But he’d given him no choice about the marriage. No, he’d wrestled Jaskier to the ground and bound his hands. He’d gagged him. He’d flung the bard into Roach’s saddle and tied his crossed wrists to the pommel so he couldn’t pick the knots free and escape. He’d passed Jaskier off to the guards and watched them drag him away as he spit out the gag and started yelling. </p><p>As he confessed his love to Geralt after six long years on the Path together. </p><p>
  <em> Fucking hells, what have I done to him?  </em>
</p><p>The suddenly panicked Witcher tumbled from his rented bed and reached for his boots. There was no time to spare. There was no time to waste. </p><p>There was only Jaskier.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier couldn’t believe it. </p><p>After all this time. After all their adventures. After all the songs he’d written and rooms he’d gotten them at comfortable inns, <em> this </em>is how the Witcher repaid him. Trading him back to his parents for a bag of coin like he was some sort of slave or whore. </p><p>He was a bard.</p><p>He was <em> Geralt’s </em>bard.</p><p>Well, he used to be Geralt’s bard. Now he was going to be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and Lord of Rinde by marriage. </p><p>He wished he could just stop breathing and disappear. His heart thudded dully in his chest and it felt as if he was floating several feet below the surface of deep water. He was unable or unwilling to surface; maybe both. There was no <em> point </em>anymore, really. Geralt, the only person he’d ever really loved, had trussed him up like a market goose and traded him for silver. </p><p>The food his family’s servants brought him laid mostly untouched. He knew how to eat <em> just enough </em> to keep from dying. He’d been in plenty of dungeons and bandit camps before. Jaskier had spent six years following the Witcher’s Path and surviving off of whatever Geralt caught or he traded for. There was no reason to eat any more than what he needed to keep his body alive. There was no reason to get out of bed. Or bathe. Or change clothes. These clothes still smelled like the road. Like lute polish and chamomile oil and Roach and mud and <em> Geralt. </em></p><p>“Please,” his mother begged, clasping his limp hand in both of hers. She’d been sitting at his bedside for maybe an hour, watching him stare listlessly up into the green velvet canopy above him. “Just eat something substantial. Say something. <em> Do </em>something, Julian. We know you aren’t happy with us or our decision but you can’t just lay here all day and wallow in self-pity. You have responsibilities to take care of; Ainsley has grown worried and her father is impatient.”</p><p>“The wedding is tomorrow,” he’d replied. There was no emotion in his voice and the monotony was soothing to his own ears. Geralt didn’t like it when he got too excited. Best to be calm and quiet like a good little noble. “I will be presentable. I will be at the altar. I will do my duty for the family.”</p><p>“Thank you, Julian.”</p><p>“But I will not love her.”</p><p>“You never have to <em> love </em> her,” his mother smiled. She gave his hand another small pat before standing and moving towards the door. Her job here was done, after all. “We only need you to <em> marry </em> her.”</p>
<hr/><p>Geralt pounded up the steps of the keep two-at-a-time. His usually slow heartbeat was now pounding in his ears like a warlord’s drum. <em> He had to save Jaskier, he had to </em> - the door slammed open and something hard and long went flying into his chest, knocking him back a step. The Witcher reached out a hand to steady the person he’d collided with but his amber eyes were still focused on the castle’s front door. He moved to step around the stranger and into the building when they suddenly spoke. The bard’s voice was pitchy and low from crying all morning: “Geralt?”</p><p>“Jaskier?” the Witcher gasped. His grip tightened around the younger man’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Am I <em> okay </em> ?” Jaskier looked truly flabbergasted. His expression shifted from shock to anger quickly, however, and the hurt in those blue eyes nailed Geralt to the ground where he stood. “Am I <em> OKAY </em> ? You absolute fucking moron; of <em> course </em> I’m not okay. The love of my life tied me up, handed me over to my horrible fucking family like a Beltane offering, and disappeared into the night with a fat bag of crowns. The one person I love most in this world, the only person I’d ever trust with my life or my lute, treated me like a <em> transaction </em> of some sort. I am very much <em> not </em>okay, Geralt of Rivia! Now pick me up, take me to Roach, and get me the fuck out Lettenhove before I have to marry that horrible, terrible, hideous woman!”</p><p>The Witcher cracked a smile. Jaskier jabbed a finger into his chest and frowned even more deeply. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Witcher?”</p><p>“Because I missed the sound of your voice.”</p><p>The bard blushed, his righteous anger faltering. </p><p>“I love you too,” Geralt added. Jaskier’s eyes somehow grew even rounder and more watery. “I’m so fucking sorry but I didn’t know how else to protect you. I thought that maybe after coming home and seeing how much nicer it was than being on the Path you might want to stay here and be safe. Live your life normally. I thought you’d be <em> happier </em>here than you were with me. You’d certainly wouldn’t be hurt as often.”</p><p>“Did you just say that you love me?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Did you hear me say that <em>I love you,</em> mere moments ago?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then why the fuck would you try to get rid of me?” The Witcher tried not to flinch when Jaskier placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He’d expected a slap. A kick to the shin. A knee to the groin. Screaming. He hadn’t expected that look of soft understanding to dawn on Jaskier’s boyish face. Despite the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the bard’s voice was sad. “Caged birds never sing, Geralt. What an awful cage it would have been; I'd never see my handsome Witcher again. I'd never attend another royal wedding as entertainment. I'd never write another line of song, much less be able to sing it. I would have been miserable Geralt. I probably would have died much sooner here than I would on the Path.”</p><p>“Can you ever forgive me?”</p><p>“As soon as you do as I say and get me the hell out of here, then yes, I’ll consider forgiving you, Witcher.”</p><p>“Well I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.”</p><p>Geralt flung the bard up and over his shoulder and took off back down the steps at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let those people have his darling Jaskier back. Not if they tried to cage him and take his voice. He knew better now. He understood. They <em>loved </em>each other. </p><p>The bard was laughing brightly, bouncing along as Geralt made for the stables. He could see his family exiting the Great Hall and making their way in his direction. It didn’t matter. They’d never catch up with his Witcher. He shot them several naughty hand gestures and grinned widely when Geralt swung them both up into Roach’s saddle. “Sorry girl,” he apologized. “Time for our daring escape into the woods.”</p>
<hr/><p>"Fifteen hundred crowns, huh?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the hefty purple velvet bag. </p><p>"Actually there are only fourteen hundred left," Geralt shrugged. He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a small leather pouch, which he handed to Jaskier. The bard opened it, peered inside, and gasped in very genuine surprise. </p><p>"Geralt..."</p><p>"Do you like it?" the Witcher was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the cutest way. Jaskier wanted to answer but his heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach so he couldn't quite form words. He nodded. </p><p>"Can you help me put it on?"</p><p>"There's no clasp. They aren't meant to have clasps."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>Geralt's heart soared as he lifted his gift for Jaskier out of the bag and lowered it over his head. The medallion rested just between his collarbones, framed by a tuft of the bard's chest hair. It was a copy of Geralt's wolf medallion, only this wolf held a flower in its mouth. Gently, as if unwilling to break the stem or let it go. </p><p>"It's perfect," the bard beamed. His eyes were watery and he blinked the tears free to keep staring at his new jewelry. "Thank you."</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>"What do you want to do with the rest of the money?"</p><p>"I don't know," the Witcher shrugged. "Maybe go to the coast?"</p><p>"I've always wanted to go there!" </p><p>Geralt pressed a tender kiss against Jaskier's lips, reveling in the sensation of his bard melting against his chest. They'd spent the last few nights wrapped around each other, whispering secrets and stories into each others mouths until sleep overtook them. Tonight would be no different, except that now Jaskier felt truly safe. He felt loved. He felt utterly surrounded by the happiness that came with being on the Path next to his Witcher. "What are you thinking about, little lark?"</p><p>"I'm glad you came back for me. I'm glad we're together now."</p><p>"Hmm. Me too."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oof this was a little different than my usual style but it was still fun to write.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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